The East Wind Blows
by MisplacedHyperQuill
Summary: Relief had washed away, but now, she felt nothing, because deep down she knew that that day on the rooftop wasn't the end. The past months had been nothing but the eye. Now, the storm was back. R&R! My take on Post-S3 :)
1. Prologue

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

"What in hell?" Molly muttered from the sink in the morgue. Sighing, she turned the tap of, drying her hands.

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

She frowned as she manoeuvred her way to the telly set in her office. This would be the third time this month something went wrong with the archaic dinosaur of a machine. Huffing, she plucked her phone from her lab pocket, ready to call maintenance again.

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

There was something eerie about the repetitive message, one that made Molly pause on her way.

_What's wrong with you? It's just the telly_, she chided, before walking through the open doorway.

Mouth opening in a silent scream, her fingers went slack. Usually she'd praise herself on her luck- her phone plopped silently in her pocket rather than crash into the floor, but the sight she saw in front of her…

Her eyes were instantly drawn to _his_ black pair on the screen.

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

It was impossible. He was dead. He _died_.

"No…no…." she murmured backing away "_No_." she cried, her voice breaking painfully.

Clasping her hands over her ears, she managed to drown out his distorted voice.

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

Once again, her eyes met his and suddenly he was there.

Talking to her, laughing with her, _kissing_ her.

She bit her lip painfully hard, almost punishing herself for the thoughts corroding her mind.

_Did you miss me? Did you miss me? Did you miss me?_

The remote was a few feet away, but so was the telly…so was his face. She felt weak, stupid, cowardly.

She let out a yelp when she felt the buzz in her pocket. The salty pang of he blood barely fazed her. With shaking hands, she reached for her pocket.

As she stared at the blank screen, she realised that maybe it was the demon on the screen a room away reaching out to her. The thought made her physically wretch.

Subconsciously, however, she thumbed the home button, and her screen glared to life, startling her.

_Sherlock Holmes_.

The text was printed neatly across the screen. Relief coursed through her, as she checked her messages.

There were two.

_Thank you, Molly -SH_. The first said. It was sent last night. Molly bit her already sore lip, understanding that was his second goodbye to her.

Tears sprang to her eyes, all of a sudden.

Sherlock was gone, and Moriarty was back.

Chest constricting, she shut her eyes, trying to stop the hyperventilation fit that was beginning to take over. Steeling herself, she took a shuddering breath.

There were _two._ _Two_ messages. There was no way he could send a message on board a _flight._

Quickly, her eyes scanned the second, the words instantly soothing her.

_Stay at Bart's. I'm coming._ _–SH_

As she reread the words, she noticed about ten minutes had passed. Ten minutes of pure panic and terror coursing through her. At least now she knew Sherlock was back home.

They computerised voiceover had ceased transmissions, Molly noted. They screen was now broadcasting live news. A photo of Moriarty was plastered on the top right of the screen: an image of the smirking, evil mastermind for the entire world to see.

All she had felt just minutes ago were horror, terror, panic; and then relief, when she'd received the text.

But now, the relief washed away as the truth sunk in.

Moriarty was back.

She forced herself to look up at the screen again, and this time, barely flinched at the man.

Relief had washed away, but now, she felt nothing, because deep down she knew that that day on the rooftop wasn't the end. No- Moriarty was nothing without his grandeur.

The past months had been nothing but the eye.

Now, the storm was back.

**So this is me taking a crack at this after watching the finale. The plot bunny was just growing and growing. Tell me what you think? With enough good feedback , I may just continue it (just not to sure how yet...so ideas are completely and utterly welcome (; )**

**Hope you enjoyed, my fellow Sherlockians!**

**-Ash :)**

**btw, Sherlock with Redbeard? I think I died.**


	2. Pause

**Thanks for all the great feedback! Hope you enjoy this chapter!**

Huddling into the furthest corner of the booth, Molly cupped her tea in two hands and blew the steam out of the way. She kept her gaze down, especially when she heard Sherlock slide, almost silently, into the bench across her.

There was tense silence for a few minutes.

Molly never noticed how orange tea was. Really, it was quite pretty and-

"I'm sure you want to know why I want to speak privately with you."

Molly couldn't help the unladylike snort that sounded. She glanced up at Sherlock, who was staring at her in surprise.

"You don't have to make it sound like we just left some serious board meeting." She remarked, though it certainly felt that way. Sherlock cleared his throat, avoiding her gaze as if he were uncomfortable in the situation.

"I mean, we _are_ friends, right?" Molly added hurriedly. Her heartbeat picked up, ever so slightly, as his mouth twitched upwards.

"Of course." He answered, "I believe it's fairly obvious you know what I want to ask."

Tilting her head, she shook it in negative.

"What did my brother say to you?" Surprised, Molly stuttered.

"Uh…nothing? He didn't speak to me at all."

The detective let out a frustrated sigh, "Come on, Molly, right before he left."

"Nothing he just kinda…mumbled… something and then… left." Molly shrugged, unsure what was so important.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"What did he _mumble_?" Molly frowned, looking upwards before meeting his gaze again.

"I don't know, he just kinda asked 'what's it about you' or something. I don't know, Sherlock, I probably heard it wrong."

There was tense silence. Sherlock nodded and leaned back, his coffee untouched. Molly sipped her own drink and stared at him.

"Is that all you wanted to ask me?" she asked incredulously.

Sherlock ignored her, and so she let out a disgruntled noise and leaned back herself. Her eyes gravitated to the TV hanging from the ceiling.

A comedy was playing. For a second, she imagined the static overriding the screen, and his face reappearing. Background laughter from the show brought her out of her reverie, though she felt like the computerised voices were mocking her. Her gaze shifted to Sherlock, wondering if he managed to deduce her thoughts; she was partially relieved, partially disappointed to realise he was tapping away on his mobile.

Seeing as Sherlock wasn't paying any attention to her, Molly turned her attention to the sitcom. A young redhead walked past their booth. She was petite, smaller than even Molly was, and pretty. She stared at Sherlock, eyes widening in admiration for his looks before catching Molly's gaze and blushing.

The girl looked between the couple before offering a pitying glance to the pathologist. As she walked past her, the redhead patted Molly gently on the shoulder.

Realising what the stranger was implying, Molly sniggered. Yeah, bad date for sure. Shaking her head, she continued watching the show, chuckling at all the supposed to be funny parts.

Once the credits began rolling, Molly looked back down, starting when she realised Sherlock's intense gaze was on her.

Exhaling, she frowned "Sherlock? Are you alright?" she shifted her eyes to the right, slightly uncomfortable under his gaze at such a close range.

"I think it should be I asking you that." He drawled slowly. Molly's eyes snapped to his.

"What?"

He looked away, looking almost unsure. It was unusual seeing Sherlock so uncomfortable.

"You're fingers." He started. Molly's gaze shifted to the offending parts of her body "Usually so frantic, alive, fidgety. Now, they're completely still. At the morgue, on a daily basis, we have you constantly moving about, hovering, dropping things, even when you're standing in one place. Today, well at least since I first saw you, you are completely still. Why is that? Where has all the energy gone?"

He paused, leaning forward, bright eyes holding the familiar glint as he clasped his hands under his chin and rested his elbows on the table.

Molly fought the urge to lean forward and lessen the space between them, eventhough his deductions were currently on her.

"But let's get back to that later. Then there's the laughing and the smiling." Molly frowned then, truly leaning forward, finger outraised.

"Hold on, are you saying there's something wrong with my smiling?"

Sherlock gripped her hand (Molly fought the shiver off valiantly) and pushed it gently away.

"In this context, yes. Let me continue." He demanded, catching her gaze "Usually when something upsets you, you let that be known. But now, you are just as you usually are: smiling with my landlady, making bad jokes, laughing at crap telly sitcoms-"

"I'm going to stop you before you continue your list of 'Everything Idiotic about Molly Hooper', and take my leave. You can finish your little talk in your bloody Mind Palace."

Molly was proud of herself as she slid out of the booth, leaving a very confused looking Sherlock behind. As she left Speedy's she debated turning right but shook her head no, and turned left to the direction of her home. She raised her hand, luckily grabbing a taxi on the first go.

Why did he have to be such a git? Molly swallowed her hurt and lifted her chin.

She had opened the door when a hand on her elbow yanked her away. Very nearly screaming, Molly found her gaze locked (for the millionth time that day) with Sherlock's.

"She won't be needing your services." He told the cabbie curtly.

"Yes, I do too!" Molly cried out.

Sherlock simply shut the door and yanked her away.

"What the hell, Sherlock, just-"

"You didn't let me finish." He cut off simply. Molly shrugged his hand away and stepped back.

"In case you haven't realised, I don't want to listen to you going on and on about everything I do wrong." Molly shut her eyes, trying to calm herself "No one does, Sherlock, especially someone with a lot of faults."

Opening her eyes at her revelation, she chose to look anywhere but at the detective.

"I never said anything about being anyone's faults." Sherlock stated softly. Molly was so surprised, she didn't move when his hand gripped her elbow again.

"Like I said, you didn't let me finish. Besides, do you really want to create a scene in the middle of the street? With all these people who know who I am? What would the tabloids say?" he smirked at his own joke.

Molly glanced around at the few people who threw backward glances at the pair, a blush rising to her cheeks.

"Fine. Make it quick."

They headed off in some random direction together, walking against the crowd.

"Like I said, your current behaviour is abnormal. Someone in your situation would be closed off and scared, but your attitude says anything but. However, your body language, as I stated earlier isn't as it usually is, and betrays what your subconscious is trying to convey to everybody else."

His hand loosened on her elbow and left altogether. Molly bit her lip, missing its presence.

"You were never one for the drama. You're far to humble, and prefer to suffer in silence. At first, I wasn't sure what to make of it, until I caught you biting you lip."

Molly looked up at him in surprise. "I'm sorry?"

"Your habit. You do it all the time, but usually when you are concentrating, or when you feel awkward. However, it is also your nervous tell. With what I gathered so far, the last option proved the best fit."

Realising vaguely Sherlock had stopped them; Molly noticed they were standing outside Speedy's again.

"You aren't scared. You're terrified about the current turn of events. You fear for your safety, and for others', and for what he may do. You're so scared, you're subconsciously trying to convince yourself that you're not, but you're clever and you know that lying to yourself is no help. But worst of all, you're scared you'll make the same mistakes you made the last time."

Tasting saltiness, Molly opened her mouth, wincing at the sharp pain she felt on her lips. Bringing her fingers to her mouth, she dabbed at the lip, pulling the pads away tinged red with her blood.

"Sorry," she murmured, sucking in her lip to ease the wound with her tongue.

She looked up at him, shyly, noticing him looking at her face, but not quite her eyes, and unreadable expression on his face. His dark gaze shifted to hers, his eyes widening when they met hers, and snapped away.

"We better get back in. Knowing John, he'll probably believe I did something to make you upset."

"You did." Molly remarked, unable to help it.

It was worth it, she decided, when she saw the corner of his mouth twitch upwards the second time that day.

.oOo.

Once they re-entered the flat, Sherlock answered the question posed at them on their absence.

"He wasn't a git, was he?" John asked, glaring at the detective.

"Surprisingly not, most of the time."

John wasn't sure whether to believe her or not.

When that was over and done with, the small party relaxed into easy conversation. None of it was about the impending doom hanging over their heads- their minds were already too caught up. Besides, they deserved the distraction.

After hours passed, John and Mary decided to take their leave. Molly stood up herself.

"Well, I'd best get going- people aren't gonna stop dying just 'cause of this drama." Molly said, wincing at her incredibly bad, inappropriate joke.

"Oh, dear, it's incredibly unsafe- especially for you, right now. Sherlock, what do you think?" Mrs Hudson protested.

"I can take 'er 'ome." Bill offered, pushing himself of the couch, "Come along milady." He said jokingly.

"Oh, okay…" Mrs Hudson answered unsurely. She cast a worried glance to Molly.

"That's alright, Billy. Just make sure the Network's not in some frenzy and then you're done for the day."

Billy nodded silently before taking his leave. Mrs Hudson made no secret of her dislike to his smell as he passed her. Once he was gone, the landlady smiled and embraced the pathologist in a bone-crushing hug, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

"Take care dear, and do come around more- I do love the female company."

"Of course, Mrs Hudson."

"And I do say Sherlock enjoys your company just as much as I do."

Molly choked, covering it with a cough. Mrs Hudson was smiling innocently at something behind Molly. The pathologist turned to see an unreadable Sherlock standing behind her, her coat in his hands.

"I'll be back in an around an hour, Mrs Hudson." He stated as he helped Molly into her coat.

Once Molly was ready, she felt herself being guided out the door.

.oOo.

The cab ride was silent, save for a long call from her mother. It took a lot of persuasion, but Molly managed to convince that yes, she was alright, and no, she wasn't kidnapped just yet, and no, that did not mean she was about to be kidnapped anytime soon.

Molly turned her head to Sherlock, who she caught looking away and out the window on his side.

She didn't miss the twitch in his lips. The third one she caused today.

Grinning herself, she finally got of the phone and replaced it into her pocket with a sigh.

The rest of the ride was spent with her mulling over the change in the relationship dynamic she had with the infuriating, brilliant man next to her.

.oOo.

"Thanks for sending me home." Molly said, shifting awkwardly. Last time Sherlock had been to this building was over two years ago.

"I had to keep Mrs Hudson from worrying too much about you."

Molly nodded, feeling slightly hurt that he was only there with her as an obligation. She looked down at her feet.

"Molly."

"Hmm?" she hummed, looking back up at him.

"You need to know that your flat may be bugged. I'm sorry, but you need to understand that. Just…be careful."

Molly looked at her building, suddenly feeling unsafe being anywhere near it.

"Don't worry. Moriarty won't try to hurt you." Molly laughed half-heartedly.

"Because doing that was so two years ago." She retorted.

Silence fell between the two. Sherlock seemed to move to say something, but thought against it.

"Goodnight, Sherlock." she said finally, moving up the steps.

"Goodnight." Sherlock nodded his head before turning away with a flap of his coat.

.oOo.

As soon as she entered her flat, whatever positive she had been feeling washed away instantly, leaving her a dried, paranoid, frightened husk.

Sherlock had been right, mostly, about his deductions, but there was always something.

Molly gave a sarcastic laugh as she pulled of her shirt and trousers and crawled into her pyjamas.

She hated Jim with a passion she was certain no one would, or could, ever understand. No one could hate him in the unique way she did, not unless they were in her position.

Jim knew her. Maybe even more than her friends, family, hell, even Sherlock. He knew exactly which buttons to push, which knobs to turn, and god help her did she love that he knew.

Molly Hooper hated James Moriarty, but she knew, and she'd go to hell for even thinking it, that there would always be a part that loved him just as much.

And that's what frightened her the most.

.oOo.

He hadn't meant to do half the things he did today, but it wasn't that that irked him. All the impromptu decisions today: deducing Molly, stopping her when she tried to leave, send her home- they all had one thing in common: Molly Hooper.

The deducing was a habit, stopping her was because he felt the slightest bit of guilt- nothing that hadn't happened with her before (hint: Christmas Party), sending her home: well, he wouldn't have heard the end of it from his landlady-not-housekeeper.

Yet some part of him argued that he deduced her because he sensed something off about her, and needed to know she was alright; and chased after her in case something happened; and made sure she was home safe for the exact same reason.

When he walked into his flat, he noted that Mrs Hudson was gone, and the fingers were still on the floor. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his coat before curling up in his chair.

He wished he'd left John's chair in the doctor's old room.

His phone rang while he was cleaning out his Palace. He sat himself up.

When he unlocked his phone, his blood began to boil and his grip tightened over the mobile.

Did you miss me?

The game, my friend, is only paused.

-J xxx

A second text came through.

We press play tomorrow.

-J xxx

Sherlock stood up, dropping his phone on the floor on his way to his bedroom. He was full of adrenaline at the moment, but knew it was energy best conserved for the real fight.

He debated walking back out to reply, but decided against it.

He won the last game, and he would win this one as well.

**Bit of a filler, action starts next chapter :D I have a loose plan sorted out, but there a quite a few nooks and crannies to sort out, and I want to sort em out before posting anything else, so I know for sure where I'm going.**

**I'd love to know your thoughts on the story so far, and what you'd like to see happen. All ideas and feedback welcome.**

**So ya know, type in that little text box, why don't you?**

**See you soon, my lovelies!**

**-Ash :)**


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